


However Long It Takes

by Scrawlers



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 23:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17031726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrawlers/pseuds/Scrawlers
Summary: The police want to interrogate Alan over his involvement in Team Flare. There's nothing Augustine can do to stop it, but that doesn't mean he's going to let Alan face it alone.





	However Long It Takes

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago, but in light of Tumblr being . . . Tumblr, I've decided to archive everything here.

The days immediately following the Flare crisis blended together in a frenzied smoothie of reconstruction and damage reports. Reconstruction was still ongoing at various sites; much of Lumiose City had been devastated by the rampaging roots and Zygarde battle, and League officials were still cleaning up the debris and shrapnel that covered the site of the battle against Lysandre’s rampaging Megalith. For his part, Augustine had helped where he could. He had provided as much information as he was able between what Steven Stone had told him and what he himself had witnessed, but when it came to the actual reconstruction there wasn’t very much he could do. His inexperience when it came to construction aside, there were other areas he felt it far more important to give his attention to.

But with everything going on, the days and events in them had passed in a snap—and it was for this reason that he felt surprised (albeit pleasantly so) when he saw Diantha standing in the lab’s foyer after Sophie told him he had a visitor waiting for him there. She was dressed in a sharp pantsuit, no doubt because (as Champion) she had been working constantly for the past few days, but although Augustine could see weariness in her eyes when she looked to him, she still offered a pleasant smile in return for his warm grin.

“Diantha! Wonderful to see you,” he said, and in a play at the “sophisticated” courtesies they had always exchanged for fun, he placed a kiss against her knuckles when she held out her hand for him to shake. Despite the fatigue that plagued her, she chuckled. “To what do I owe this pleasure? I can’t imagine you have a lot of time to spare.”

“No, I don’t,” she said, and her smile faded in a small sigh. Augustine felt his heart drop a fraction in response. “And I am here on business, actually. Is there somewhere we could talk?”

“Of course,” Augustine said, and he gestured down the hall toward the kitchen and dining area as he stepped aside to allow her to pass him. Diantha took the gesture graciously, and once he stepped into pace just behind her he asked, “Would you care for something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

“No, thank you. As much as I would love to indulge, I really don’t have very much time to spare.”

At that time in the afternoon, the kitchen, dining area, and living room were all thankfully empty. Cosette was outside, administering vitamins and medicine to the lab’s pokémon as needed, and Sophie and Alan were both in the research room, translating some ancient tablets pertaining to mega evolution that had been discovered days before the crisis. Manon, too, was out; she had begun the day by going over the mega evolution tablets with Sophie and Alan, but her attention had waned quickly, and when Serena and the others had dropped by to extend an invitation to go hang out with them, she had accepted. (The invitation had been extended to Alan as well, but he had declined despite urging Manon to go and enjoy herself.) As a result, Augustine and Diantha had the room to themselves for the time being, and after he pulled out a chair at the table for Diantha to take a seat, Augustine grabbed a chair for himself across from her.

“So,” Augustine said as he took a seat, “what can I help you with?”

Diantha offered another small smile, but it was tight and didn’t reach her eyes, and after a second her gaze dropped down to her hands.

“I suppose it won’t do any good to beat around the bush, so I’ll get right to it,” she said. “I’m here to talk about Alan.”

Augustine’s heart stalled for a moment before it resumed beating at a faster kip than before. “What about Alan?”

Diantha looked back up at him, her eyes touched with pity even as she forced another small smile. “I think you know.”

There hadn’t been very much time in the days following the Flare crisis for Augustine and Alan to talk about everything that had happened, but until that moment Augustine had felt that it was for the best. Immediately following the crisis Alan had gone (unwillingly) to the hospital to have his injuries treated, while Lizardon did the same at the Pokémon Center. Once they were both patched up they had returned to the lab, and while Alan had tried to immediately resume work, Augustine had (thus far) managed to keep him away from extensive manual labor. That wasn’t to say that Alan was fine, though; however much he insisted he was, Augustine didn’t miss the way he pushed food around on his plate instead of actually eating it, or the way he no longer offered his opinion or asked questions about things unless directly asked. He didn’t miss, either, the way Alan had almost called him “sir”once after agreeing to a task—didn’t miss the way Alan had caught himself on the first syllable at the same moment that Augustine’s own heart froze, right before quickly ducking out of the room. Alan insisted he was fine, but Augustine knew that to be a lie. He had just thought—had hoped—that they would have time to talk about it as things calmed down, and that Alan would be able to ease back into life at the lab once he was given time to rest and recuperate.

But now, with Diantha visiting him on “official business” to talk about Alan, Augustine had a dreadful feeling in his shoulders that told him their time was up.

“I think I do, too,” he told her, “but I’m going to hope against hope and ask you to elaborate anyway.”

Diantha sighed again, light and not at all happy. “Very well. The police have been conducting investigations into the remainder of Team Flare. They’ve rounded up a number of Flare agents right here in Lumiose, but aside from Malva—who turned herself in after the battle with the Megalith—they’ve been unable to identify any other high-ranking Flare officers. Everyone they’ve found so far has been ranked no higher than a grunt within the organization, and according to all testimony none of them ever spoke more than a handful of words to Lysandre, much less had insight into any of Flare’s grander schemes or plans.”

“And the police believe Alan did?” Augustine asked, and despite his years-long friendship with Diantha, he was unable to keep the hard edge from his voice.

Fortunately, Diantha didn’t seem to take offense. “They know he was one of Lysandre’s top operatives. Malva confirmed in her testimony that Alan had worked for Lysandre, and files that she turned over on a flash drive confirmed that Lysandre had far more interest in and contact with Alan than he did any of the other Flare operatives they’ve arrested so far, aside from Malva herself. Whether or not Alan knew of any of the details of Lysandre’s plans is unclear to them at the moment, but . . .” Diantha smiled wryly. “That’s precisely why they want his testimony.”

“He didn’t,” Augustine said, and though he kept his voice even, he had to struggle to do so. “He didn’t know anything. Lysandre used him the entire time. He—”

Diantha held up one hand, and Augustine closed his mouth.

“I know,” she said. “I believe in his innocence. I was there at the League that day, remember? I saw his face when the roots began destroying the stadium. He had no idea any of that was coming. Someone who was involved in that incident—someone who helped cause it to happen—wouldn’t have looked as shocked and upset as he did.”

“Then—”

“But the police still want testimony. More specifically, they still want to question him about his involvement with Lysandre, Flare, and all of the events that unfolded. And as much as I believe in Alan’s innocence, my word will only go so far. If I prevent them from questioning him, all that’s going to do is make him look more suspicious. Not to mention, particularly considering Malva’s involvement, my refusal to let Alan be questioned would throw  _me_ under suspicion as well. Malva is—or  _was_ , I suppose, depending on how her trial goes—one of my Elite, after all. For one of my own Elite to be involved, and then for me to prevent them from questioning one of Lysandre’s known operatives?” Diantha shook her head. “‘Suspicious’ would be the gentlest word to describe how that would look.”

“I understand, and I wouldn’t ask you to put yourself in jeopardy, but . . .” Augustine scrubbed his hands down his face, his elbows on the table, before he said quietly, “I just don’t believe that a police interrogation is in Alan’s best interests right now. He’s doing the best he can, but . . .”

“I know,” Diantha said, and for her part she did look genuinely sympathetic. “But unfortunately, there isn’t a way to avoid it at this point. The police aren’t getting any answers from the grunts, the citizens are still on edge after everything that happened, and at this point if the police chief isn’t out for blood, the head detective certainly is. They’re desperate for progress.”

“And they’re willing to throw anyone they can under the bus to get it?”

“No—well, yes. Perhaps.” This time Diantha’s smile was a little fiercer than before, and Augustine felt his heart lift, tasting at the hope on the air. “But I’m not about to let them.”

“But if you interfere, won’t that cause suspicion?”

“If I refuse to allow them to interrogate him, yes. But that doesn’t mean I’m powerless.” Diantha’s smile grew as she explained, “To begin with, the original plan was for the head detective to bring a few officers here with him this afternoon to formally take Alan into custody. I found out about this little plan of theirs moments before they carried it out, and judging from the look on your face, I think I made the right decision in stopping them.”

Despite himself—and the situation, really—Augustine huffed a laugh. “Yes. Well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Diantha said. “Second, I moved the interrogation time to tomorrow morning, down at the station. They won’t send officers to retrieve him, but Alan will be expected to be there at nine a.m. sharp. If he isn’t, they  _will_ send someone to arrest him, and I won’t be able to prevent it then. So do make sure he’s there, won’t you?”

As much as he wanted to say ‘no,’ Augustine knew—even without the somewhat pleading note in Diantha’s voice and eyes—that he couldn’t. “I can do that.”

“Thank you,” Diantha said. “Finally, although the only interrogation I was required to sit on was Malva’s, I am technically allowed to participate in any interrogation that I choose—and I’ve chosen to sit in on this one. Truth be told, neither the police chief nor the head detective were very pleased about it, but . . .” Diantha shrugged. “I am the Champion. My word overrules them, at least when it comes to my own duties. There isn’t very much they can do about it.” She paused, and then said gently, “I’ll make sure they treat him fairly, Augustine. You have my word on that. As much as they may be out for blood, they won’t get it, least of all from him.”

Augustine reached across the table to take her hands in his, and gave them a gentle, grateful squeeze. “Thank you.”

She smiled, warm but fleeting, and said, “Any time. But now, with that unpleasant news delivered, I really must be going. A Champion’s work rarely ends, least of all in the midst of crisis reconstruction.” Diantha released Augustine’s hands, and together they rose from the table, Diantha readjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder.

“Is there anything I can help with?” Augustine asked, and he placed his hand briefly on her shoulder as he walked her to the door. “Particularly with the help you’re giving Alan, if there’s anything I can do—”

“No, no. This isn’t anything I’m not capable of handling. And don’t think of what I’m doing as ‘help,’ necessarily. It’s a Champion’s duty to make sure their people aren’t mistreated, after all. Ensuring that the police aren’t able to scapegoat one of my citizens isn’t a special favor; it’s my job. And if that citizen just so happens to be the child of a dear friend of mine . . .” Diantha shrugged, but there was a note of cheek in her tone that betrayed her blasé gesture. “Well, all the better.”

Augustine smiled. “Well, I appreciate it nonetheless. Take care, Diantha. We’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

Diantha nodded and said, “See you tomorrow,” before she stepped through the door.

As much as the knowledge that Diantha would be present for the interrogation had filled him with a spot of hope, the moment the door shut behind her it brought every fear and drop of dead crashing back down into his gut. It was great that Diantha would be there—wonderful, really, especially considering her words on how the police were desperate for any high-ranking Flare official they could find to try and appease the public. Despite the fact that Alan wasn’t a high-ranking  _anything_ within Flare, Augustine had no doubt they would spin the story to say as much if given half the chance. The fact that Diantha wasn’t going to let it get that far was a great relief.

But that didn’t mean that the interrogation was going to be easy. Even though Diantha was going to be there to make sure they didn’t frame Alan as a monster within the first five minutes, there was still the matter of Alan’s own emotional and mental state. Augustine still remembered vividly how Alan had looked during the League, both during his matches and when they had finally been able to speak the night before his match with Ash. Alan had looked tired and depressed  _then_ , yet compared to how he looked nowadays when he wasn’t purposefully trying to appear “fine,” he had practically looked healthy. It was no wonder, really; after everything that had happened, Augustine would have been more shocked if Alan’s emotional and mental well-being  _hadn’t_ taken more severe hits following the crisis. But whether or not Alan’s emotional state was surprising wasn’t the issue. The issue was that he was struggling at all. And given that he was, the fact that he was going to be interrogated by a detective that was determined to find someone to scapegoat for the crisis was . . .

Diantha would be there. She would stop them from scapegoating Alan. Augustine felt confident about that, but all the same . . .

He took a deep breath in a futile effort to dispel the anxiety in his gut, and then turned toward the research room.

Whatever would unfold during the interrogation would unfold during the interrogation. For now, he had to tell Alan what was going on.

**\- - -**

Alan took the news remarkably well, though in retrospect, Augustine supposed that fact shouldn’t have surprised him.

Augustine had pulled him briefly out of the research room to tell him in private, and when he had, Alan had looked surprised for only a fraction of a second before his expression locked down again. It wasn’t that he was stoic, Augustine thought, so much as it was that he was  _resigned._ He had said, “Oh. Okay,” before asking whether or not he should head down to the police station right then, and when Augustine had said that the interrogation was set for nine the next morning, he had simply said, “Okay” again.

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” Augustine had told him. “Diantha will be there, and you haven’t done anything wrong. She’ll make sure that—”

“I’ve done a lot of wrong things,” Alan had said, and then—realizing that he had interrupted—had quickly added, “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, but no, you haven’t,” Augustine had said. “What happened wasn’t your fault, Alan, and they’ll see that. They have to.”

Alan hadn’t responded, save for a noncommittal hum, but after a moment he had said, “Can I . . .” He had cleared his throat, and then asked, “Should I bring Lizardon?”

“It can’t hurt, though you’ll probably need to tell them you have him with you when you arrive. Unfortunately, when it comes to legal matters pokémon are sometimes still seen as weapons,” Augustine had said, and Alan had glowered at the floor.

“Lizardon is not a weapon,” he had muttered.

“I know,” Augustine had said, and he had placed his hand on Alan’s shoulder, squeezing it bracingly.

They had returned to the research room, then, to continue the translation and analysis work they had still had to do, and they didn’t speak of the upcoming interrogation again for the rest of the night. The evening had passed remarkably quickly; Alan had gone out for a night flight on Lizardon after supper, and he took a shower and went to bed shortly after he came home. Augustine went to bed not long after that, though he was unable to fall asleep for a long while, and he wondered if Alan was lying awake, too.

The next morning came too soon for Augustine’s liking, yet although he didn’t feel very much like eating himself, he still sat both himself and Alan down for a breakfast of coffee and croissants before they left for the police station. When Augustine said that it was time to go, Manon had asked if she could come. Augustine was fairly certain she didn’t know where they were headed; he hadn’t told her, and as far as he was aware Alan hadn’t, either. Yet before he could say anything, Alan said that he had something important that he needed to do, and that Augustine was just giving him a ride, but that he would be back later.

“Well, okay, but can I come?” Manon had pressed.

“No,” Alan had said bluntly.

Manon had puffed out her cheeks, Hari-san imitating her expression from her shoulder. “Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t have anything to do with you,” Alan had said, but he had seemed to regret it the second the words were out of his mouth. Manon’s expression had fallen, Hari-san’s spines drooping, and Alan had barely concealed a wince before he looked away. “And it’s boring and dangerous and you wouldn’t like it, anyway. And Bonnie said she and Clemont wanted your help redecorating the Gym today.”

“Really?” Manon had said, and she had sounded doubtful, but Alan had smiled a little as he had looked back at her.

“Really, so you should go help them. I know you’ll do a great job.”

That had seemed to mollify her, at least a little, and they had left after that (though as they walked out to the car, Augustine had made sure to send a text message to Meyer to let Bonnie and Clemont know that Manon was coming by to help, just so that Bonnie’s and Clemont’s confusion wouldn’t lead to Manon’s feelings being hurt again by mistake). Alan was silent on the trip down to the station, staring out of the passenger side window, but when they arrived Augustine saw him swallow hard, his fist clenched tightly in his lap.

At the very least, Augustine could say that Alan wasn’t alone in feeling nervous.

They arrived at nine a.m. sharp, just as Augustine had promised, but Diantha wasn’t present in the bullpen when they walked in. There were various officers milling about, some leaning over desks and others carrying files across the floor, but the moment Augustine and Alan walked in the police chief (noticeable from the badge he had pinned to his chest) and a detective strode toward them, their expressions stony. Augustine put his hand on Alan’s back for support.

“Professor Sycamore,” the police chief said as he neared, and he nodded once. Augustine returned the courtesy. “Is this the boy?”

“This is Alan, yes,” Augustine said.

The detective’s eyes were trained on Alan, and he held out his hand, palm up. “Your License, please,” he said. His tone was too cold for the ‘please’ to be much of a pleasantry. Alan silently pulled his wallet from his pocket and slipped his License out of it, handing it over without a word. The detective studied it for a moment, and then—seemingly satisfied—handed it back. “Are you armed?”

“No,” Alan said, and even with the situation being what it was, Augustine could hear the defiance in his voice. The police chief and detective seemed to hear it as well, given the look they exchanged, and before either of them could do anything, Augustine said:

“He does have his charizard with him, but he isn’t dangerous. He keeps his charizard’s pokéball in his right pocket.”

The detective gave Alan a hard look. “Lying on the first question doesn’t get you off to a good start, kid.”

“I didn’t lie,” Alan said flatly. “I’m not armed, because Lizardon isn’t a weapon.”

“Being a smart-ass doesn’t help your case, either,” the detective said, and his eyes narrowed as he stared Alan down.

Alan opened his mouth to reply—likely to say something along the lines of how he wasn’t being a smart-ass, he was just being honest, if Augustine knew him (and he did)—but before he could, Augustine cut across him. “Well, there isn’t much of a case to begin with, is there? This is just a quick questioning session, after all.”

The detective looked over to Augustine at last, but his glance was fleeting before he looked back to Alan. “Quick. Sure. Yeah,” he said. He leaned forward and patted Alan’s pockets down, and once he was sure that Alan had nothing beyond Lizardon’s pokéball on him, said, “You said your pokémon’s a charizard, right?”

“Yes,” Alan said.

“Take a couple of the lycanroc with you,” the police chief said, and though Augustine was sure that it was meant to be an undertone to the head detective, he caught it and frowned all the same. Judging from the way Alan’s eyes narrowed, Augustine was sure that  _he_ had heard it, as well. “Just in case.”

“Will do,” the detective said, and then grabbed Alan by his upper arm. “All right, kid, come with me. Time to get this show on the road.”

Alan jerked, as if to pull out of the detective’s grip, yet thought better of it in the next second and relaxed (a fraction, at least—enough to walk along with the detective). That, Augustine thought, was probably for the best, even if he had to fight against his  _own_ instincts to tell the detective to get his hands off Alan. But with his own instincts tampered down, what Augustine said instead was, “I’ll be right out here, Alan. Good luck.”

Alan stopped, bringing the detective to a halt with him, and then looked back. He was frowning as he said, “This could take a while. You don’t have to stay.”

Augustine smiled, and clasped his hands behind his back. “It doesn’t matter to me how long it takes. I have some work out in the car that can keep me occupied. I want to stay.”

Alan stared at Augustine, his eyes wide and his mouth open a little, as if Augustine had just spoken to him in a different language. But before he had a chance to question it, or even recover from the apparent shock Augustine’s statement had caused him, the detective gave him a rough little jerk toward the interrogation room, and he was forced to turn back and keep walking. Once again, Augustine swallowed down an urge to tell the detective to at least  _be gentle_ , and he prayed that the interrogation would be over more quickly than the detective seemed to think it would be.

“Dian—Champion Diantha is sitting in on the interrogation, isn’t she?” he asked the police chief. “That is what I was told, anyway.”

“Yes. She’s already in the interrogation chamber,” the police chief said, and Augustine breathed a sigh of relief. The police chief gave him a shrewd look. “It really is likely to take hours—maybe even a day. We’ll give you a call when we’re done; you don’t have to stick around.”

“I meant what I said. I’m staying,” Augustine said, and he gave a fierce smile of his own in response to the grimace on the police chief’s face. “Is there somewhere I can wait?”

The police chief nodded to a row of chairs by the door before he turned back toward his office. “Knock yourself out.”

“Thank you,” Augustine said, though the police chief didn’t show any sign of having heard him.

Though Augustine hadn’t lied when he said he had brought some things to work on, he didn’t immediately leave to go get them. Instead, he walked over and took a seat in the waiting area, drummed his fingers on his knees for a moment, and then pulled his pokégear from his pocket so that he could call Meyer.

It was only 9:10 in the morning, but Augustine could already tell it was going to be a long night.


End file.
